


14. Proof

by CatAvalon (CazinaIna)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Children, Family, Fluff, Growing Up, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Nikolai Is Alive And Rocking His Late Eighties, Otaegg Altin, Reminiscing, Shhhhh Don't Tell Beka, Yuri Also Gets Secret Botox, Yuri and Otabek Dye Each Other's Hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 10:52:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16038995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CazinaIna/pseuds/CatAvalon
Summary: Otabek catches his chin, and, despite the awkward angle, kisses him slow and sweet. Yuri feels him sigh against his skin, feels him press his smile to his shoulder.“Do you ever wonder how we got here?”





	14. Proof

**Author's Note:**

> My piece for the In This Lifetime otayuri zine- there's only feels here! 
> 
> Title from Proof by Paramore, because when don't I name fics after them

“Now be on your best behaviour, okay?” Otabek says, crouching before his two disinterested children. Their eyes are set on the two lollipops Yuri holds in his grasp. To amuse himself, and mildly annoy his husband, he sways them to the side like pendulums and snorts as their attention follows. Beka huffs, squares his shoulders, and continues dutifully on. “We don’t want to make your dedushka angry, do we?”

“No, dad,” they say in unison, and Yuri crouches down beside them too, rolling his eyes. Nikolai Plisetsky spent years single handedly raising a hissing, spitting firecracker; there is very little in the world that angers him nowadays besides politics and Yuri’s colourful vocabulary of swear words, two things his children have yet to discover.

“Do you promise?” Yuri asks, flashing the confectionary once more. He’s perfectly aware he’s resorted to bribery to appease his offspring, but he’s completely okay with it if it means he can visit his grandfather in peace.

“Yes, papa,” they say, together again, Pyotr reaching out a chubby hand towards his treat. Yuri waits a beat longer before relenting, and despite Otabek’s warning, the two children go darting off down the green, their giggles drifting in the wind. 

“Do you really think giving them sugar is a good idea?” Otabek murmurs, lips close to his ear. They brush the sweet spot at the apex of his jaw, briefly but long enough for him to momentarily forget where he is before he turns into him, smirks, and wrings the bottom of Beka’s shirt with playful fingers.

“Do you really think I’m that stupid?” he asks, punctuating the question with a chaste kiss. 

It takes Otabek only a second before they say in unison, “Sugar free.”

They nod before their smiles crack, and Yuri laughs as he loops his arm around Otabek’s awaiting elbow. In the distance, he can see Nikolai, his carer dutifully by his side. Mia and Pyotr have approached, and Yuri watches as his grandfather leans down to speak to them, accepts the likely tacky kisses they press into his bearded cheek, and smiles warmly down on his great-grandchildren.

The smile brightens when he catches sight of Yuri, and an arm raises in greeting. “Yurochka! Otabek!”

It feels like coming home, the graze of his grandfather’s stubble against his cheek, the tang of the same aftershave he’s been wearing for half a century clinging to his clothes like the pipe smoke he’d had to give up in his seventies. Yuri thanks his carer, a sweet lady called Aliona, who Yuri hand picked for her no nonsense attitude but kind smile, before taking him off her hands for the morning.

“Stay out of trouble, Mr Plisetsky,” she warns, but there’s a twinkle in her eye, and Yuri’s reminded of why he liked her so much.

“ _ Yeah _ , Mr Plisetsky,” Otabek’s mouth is by his ear again, this time mocking. “Stay out of trouble.”

Yuri snorts, and turns so he can press a lingering kiss to his lips before Mia starts complaining at them. “That’s Altin-Plisetsky to you.”

The conversation starts off as it always does: how they are, how are the kids,  _ are you sure you’re feeding them enough, Yurochka? _ and so on and so forth. Otabek has control of the wheelchair so Yuri can walk by his grandfather’s side, insisting that everything is okay, and  _ you should see them when they’re at home, deda, they’re monsters.  _ It’s nice, peaceful even, walking without a care in the world- or, some cares at least, like grandpa’s new heart medication, and the new lines that seem to mark his impossibly weathered face. 

It’s hard not to worry about him, despite the many reassurances that he shouldn’t. Waking up in the dead of night’s become a regular occurance, heart racing and skin cooling with a light sheen of sweat. A constant, nagging anxiety weighs heavy on his chest, a noose wrapping tighter with every  _ what if _ . What if he gets a call at three in the morning? What if it’s too late to see him again? What if, what if,  _ what if _ -... But Otabek’s always there to talk him down, lips murmuring against his temple, holding him against his chest.  _ He’s a strong man, Yura, amazing for his age _ .

Even in moments of overwhelming worry, Yuri has to agree.

_ Ninety three.  _ He can’t even fathom seeing so many seasons slip past, watching so many people grow and fade away.

Pyotr grows tired after a couple of minutes of walking and ends up sat on dedushka’s knee, whilst Mia happily walks a few steps ahead of them, sucking greedily on her lollipop. It’s her idea to go to a nearby park-  _ to feed the ducks, papa! _ \- and they make a quick stop at a corner shop so Yuri can dart in and buy some oats for them to throw before they head towards the water. 

For the middle of spring, it’s unseasonably hot, but after years of parenthood Yuri is appropriately prepared. They stop beneath the shelter of overhanging canopy so Yuri can slather sun cream on his squirming children, and then holds his own hair up so Otabek can rub some into the back of his neck- then out come the wet wipes to clean up the sticky fingers, and Mia and Pytor are off running again, straight towards the water. Beka lets out a startled grunt and starts after them, leaving Yuri and Nikolai laughing in their wake.

“It’s nice seeing the whole family like this,” Nikolai muses, clasping his fingers over his knees. The sun shining through the new grown leaves casts shadows over his skin that makes his hands look impossibly older, gnarled and withered. “It’s not something I ever thought I’d have, after your mother left.”

“Grandpa,” Yuri says, crouching down beside him. He places a hand over his joined fingers, smoothes his thumb over knobbled knuckles, and tries not to frown. He doesn’t know whether he’s hinting to Yuri’s sexuality, his marriage to Beka, or the lack of his own family, but for a long time it was only the two of them, and for a long time they both thought that would be how it stayed. 

“You know what I mean,” he huffs, enveloping Yuri’s hand with his own. “I never thought I’d live to see the day that you’d have children, Yurochka. All I ever wanted was a happy family, and that is the beautiful gift that you have given me.”

“You’re a bigger sap than Beka,” Yuri sniffs, blinking quickly to clear the tears that threaten to build. He’s gotten soft in his old age, in more ways that one, but that doesn’t mean he has to  _ show _ it. “Don’t make me cry, old man, otherwise I’ll think twice about taking you out again.”

“That’s an empty threat and you know it,” Nikolai grumbles, and a rumbling bark of laughter erupts from his chest. 

Yuri sucks his teeth and stands, brushes off splinters of dried leaves from his jeans and leads them to where the rest of the family await. Pyotr is perched on Otabek’s shoulders, his chubby hands grasping fistfuls of Beka’s shirt so that it rides up his stomach. Yuri swats at the exposed skin, earning a disgruntled huff, and fishes out the oats for Mia. A family of swans gliding over the water, a pale, elegant elder followed by half a dozen fluffy cygnettes.

Otabek nudges Yuri with his foot and points with the arm that isn’t wrapped around Pyotr’s legs. “That’s you.”

“Shut up,” he retorts, smiling sweetly at his daughter as he grabs a handful of oats, and throws them in his face.

*

Yuri always finds it hard to leave his grandfather behind. Otabek always reminds him that it isn’t leaving him behind, not really, more so letting him get on with his life, but there’s always the lingering, sour guilt that builds on his tongue that Nikolai should be coming home with them, not to some overheated, well maintained retirement home. It’s what he wants, to be out of Yuri’s feet. He knows that, Beka reminds him every time his lip wobbles when he watches the redbrick disappear in the wing mirror, but it doesn’t make it any less hard. 

They’ll be back next week, sooner even if Yuri can’t stay away. For now, he has to retain his energy for a completely different kind of emotional drain.

“Yurio!” The hairs on the back of his neck raise. They’ve barely been home five minutes, he’s only just managed to plate up crustless sandwiches- of course they’re earlier.

“I thought we said two,” Yuri complains around a mouthful of wholegrain and peanut butter. He swallows thickly, ignores the apologetic look Yuuri offers him, and schools his scowl into a smile to greet Aiko and Andrei. “Have they been fed?”

“Of course they have, who do you think I am?” Viktor exclaims, hand over his heart. Thank god it’s the kids spending the afternoon with his dramatic ass and not him- Yuri doesn’t think he’d be able to last five minutes in the Katsuki-Nikiforov people carrier without wanting to shove the gear stick down Viktor’s throat. “Are they ready to go?”

“Are they ready-” Yuri sputters, but Otabek steers Yuri away by the elbow before he can stomp on Viktor’s stupid Gucci loafers. “I can’t believe him.”

“It’s fine, Yura,” Beka says, in the same soothing tone he always uses to calm the storm before it becomes a hurricane. “I asked them to come a little earlier.”

“Why?” Yuri doesn’t whine, but it’s awfully close. “I haven’t even packed their skates yet, Beka. I don’t even know where Pyotr’s knee pads are!”

Otabek quietens him with a kiss, which is normally a very effective way of shutting him up but just riles him up further- that is, until he nods his head at the two packed bags by the front door. “Done, and done.”

“You could have told me,” Yuri sulks, slinking back into the kitchen to where Viktor’s face looks a lot less punchable now that he knows everything is still in order.

Fifteen minutes later, and the house is blissfully, eerily quiet. Disney cartoons play quietly on the television, and Otabek walks over and switches it off, and the silence swells like a sigh of relief. He looks at Yuri pointedly before crossing into the kitchen, crowding him against the countertop, arms braced either side of his hips, and kisses him deeply. They continue until Otabek is lifting him so that he’s sat, knife block digging into his back, legs spread so Beka can fit between them.

“We’re a little old to be doing this, aren’t we?” Yuri asks breathlessly as hot lips trail down his neck, suck at his collar, promising to mark. He runs his fingers through Otabek’s curls, tugs at the lengths so that he pulls away, mouth red and swollen. “We’re supposed to be doing our hair, Beka.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t do this first,” he says, brushing his thumb over the crest of Yuri’s cupid’s bow before kissing him again. Finding time to be intimate is few and far between, normally reserved to late night or very early morning. Yuri’s not going to lie, it’s a luxury to be with Otabek when there’s daylight, and he indulges in it whenever the opportunity rises- like right now, in the middle of their kitchen when there’s still washing up to do, and plush toys staring at him from across the room. 

Whatever, Yuri thinks, letting himself melt beneath Otabek’s touch. This moment between them is more important.

Half an hour later and Yuri winces, rubbing at the small of his back because yes, he indeed is getting too old for this. Otabek tries to be useful and kisses lightly down the line of his spine, but it’s barely enough to distract him from the dull ache in his joints. They don’t shower, although Yuri really feels like they ought to, but pull on the bare minimum amount of clothing. 

And then the box comes out from beneath the bathroom sink.

“I think I’ve got more coming through,” Yuri complains, peering at his roots in the mirror. It’s hard to see the silver in the blond, but Yuri manages it, narrowing his eyes as if he could miraculously will the greys away. Otabek lightly smacks his ass, making Yuri jump then scowl, fingers pulling tight in his hair. “Asshole.”

“I can’t see anything,” Otabek says, like he always does, and Yuri knows it’s not just to be polite. For someone so intelligent, Otabek really isn’t observant. He still hasn’t realised that Mila and Yuri’s monthly ‘pamper day’ is really just a guise for the two of them getting botox.  _ Natural beaut _ y, Yuri sniffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s not even forty and has crows feet; if that is what Mother Nature deems to be beautiful, then he’d rather not partake, thank you very much.

“You’re blind as a bat,” Yuri says, flicking the rim of Otabek’s glasses. “Now are you going first, or am I?”

If he were really careful, Yuri thinks that he might be able to shave Otabek’s head with his eyes closed. The _buzz_ _stroke_ Yuri works in is oddly comforting, intimately familiar. Yuri loves the brushed velvet feel of Otabek’s freshly cut hair, and Otabek obviously loves when Yuri dots kisses as he works, and it makes the mouthful of bristles worth it when he sags into Yuri’s touch. 

And then it’s Otabek’s time to shine. The first time Yuri had trusted him to bleach his hair, it had ended in an emergency trip to Mila’s, who had had to sort out the botched, uneven job whilst Yuri half cried, half shouted obscenities at his husband. It was a terrifying prospect, having to cut his hair off, and even though it hadn’t resorted to that, Yuri still slept alone that night. That had been one of their biggest, meaningless arguments. 

The sex that followed had been worth it.

Otabek knows his way around a tint brush now though. He stands in the bath whilst Yuri perches on the edge, humming under his breath happily despite the stench of chemicals. Yuri scrolls through his phone, looks at the photo Yuuri posted to the katsuki-nikifamily Instagram of Aiko and Mia grinning with ice cream cones half the size of their heads, smudges of mint choc chip around their grinning mouths. It’s cute, he expresses as much to Beka before he likes it and writes a scathing comment about not spoiling his kids and turning them against him- in jest, of course. He could out-father Viktor any day of the week.

“I think I’m gonna stop the repeat order on Just For Men,” Otabek comments, once he’s washed the bleach out and has wrapped a fluffy towel around Yuri’s shoulders. Yuri glances up, water trickling over his face, as Otabek stares at himself in the mirror. They hadn’t dyed his hair this time because he hadn’t quite needed it, and Yuri had to admit he did find the idea of Beka with salt and pepper hair undeniably sexy. 

He wipes his face dry, runs a hand through the tops of Otabek’s hair, and pecks him on the cheek. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Otabek repeats, following Yuri into the master. He watches as Yuri unwinds his ghd hairdryer and plugs it in, but flips the switch off before Yuri can start drying.

“What?” Yuri says, frowning. He narrows his eyes and tries to read the creasing at Otabek’s brow, but he gets nothing. “You don’t need my permission to stop dying your hair, Beka.”

His brows furrow deeper. “I thought you liked it though.” 

Sometimes Yuri thinks he could slap Beka, for being so incredibly dense. He’s always so fixated on doing what makes Yuri happy, what makes his family happy, that he rarely puts himself first, and as much as Yuri admires his dedication, he wishes he’d be just a little more selfish. “I love you, idiot, whether you have hair or you’re shaved bald- don’t do that, though. You wouldn’t be able to pull it off.”

“I would.”

“Beka, your head is massive,” Yuri says, rolling his eyes. “You would look like a huge, shiny hard boiled egg.”

“No I wouldn’t,” he frowns, stares at himself in the full length mirror on the wardrobe door, and huffs in resignation. “Yes I would.”

“Yes, you would,” Yuri agrees. “Now come over here and make your fingers useful.”

“You want to go again?” The disbelief in his tone is laughable.

“No.” They aren’t teenagers anymore, their stamina isn’t what it used to be. “Maybe later.” He pats the space behind him, pulls out his brush from the bedside draw. “Braid my hair.”

*

It’s past ten. Pyotr and Mia returned home exhausted, almost falling asleep in their carbonara, and getting them to bathe and into bed had been surprisingly easy. Yuri’d had to scold Viktor when Mia had come in wearing a new parker jacket-  _ I can clothe my children perfectly well, old man _ \- but he’d also had to admit that the leopard print lining was pretty cool. With the sun beneath the horizon, and his children beneath duvets, Yuri unwinds for the day, cleanses his skin extensively and liberally applies anti-aging moisturiser, serum and eye cream. Otabek hates it, says it makes his skin tacky to kiss, but he too has his own collection of skin care on his side of the counter. 

“We need more floss,” Yuri calls into the bedroom, knowing Beka will jot it down in the shopping list on his phone. He likes doing things like that now, has all sorts of memos cluttering his notes. Yuri’s favourite is a particularly adult checklist full of positions- they try to tick off one every couple of weeks or so. He pads through into the master to see Otabek not dutifully typing, but flipping through something that looks suspiciously like their wedding album.

It is.

“What are you doing?” Yuri asks, even though he already knows the answer. He leans over and drops a kiss to his bare shoulder and peers at the picture that Otabek’s idly tracing with the tip of his finger. It’s the two of them, kissing, their first after the wedding ceremony.

“Reminiscing.” He shifts to make room for Yuri to settle between his legs, wrapping an arm around his waist and nuzzling against his neck. “You looked so beautiful.”

“I still am beautiful,” Yuri says pointedly, pouting.

“You are.” Otabek catches his chin, and, despite the awkward angle, kisses him slow and sweet. Yuri feels him sigh against his skin, feels him press his smile to his shoulder. “Do you ever wonder how we got here?”

Yuri sucks his lip between his teeth, contemplating. It’s something he has thought a lot about, not recently as much, but in the first few years of their relationship. It catches him off guard sometimes, even years later, that this is  _ real _ . There’s a weight of a ring around his finger, and two beautiful children with their surname. Dozens of plane tickets between Almaty and St Petersburg, hundreds of photographs shared and thousands of messages sent- all of it proof of their unwavering adoration.

“Luck? Hard work and determination?” Yuri lists, linking their fingers together. He raising the back of Otabek’s hand to his lips. “Love?”

Otabek hums in agreement, and pulls Yuri down. Even now, Yuri’s heart falters like the first time, when Beka holds him close and whispers confessions of love in the millimetres between them. He should be used to it, has had years to do so, but he dreads the day when three little words don’t make him feel like a blushing teenager again. 

It won’t ever come, though- of that Yuri is sure. They may have all of this evidence, pictures and people and places they’ve been, but there’s something greater than that combined. It’s right here with him, the beat of a heart beneath his ear, the rumble of a voice vibrating through a chest into his own.  _ I love you, Yura. Always.  _

It’s the only proof that he needs. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to check out everyone else's pieces! Mine is the last of many, so the story will make more sense if you catch the pieces in between! 
> 
> Y'all can find me here for updates and shit:
> 
>  
> 
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> xoxo Cat


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